Tomorrow is room inspection day,
So I have to clean my room,
I start tidying without delay,
Despite a rising sense of gloom.
My room looks like a fly tip,
There are insects alive and dead,
Usually I would tell myself to get a grip,
But I can’t seem to find my bed.
There are pizza boxes everywhere,
Wine bottles in the tens,
There’s a terrible smell I can hardly bear,
And about a hundred used up pens.
I found some old bagels and a toothbrush,
I even found a waste paper bin,
I found a spider which I tried to crush,
But I haven’t found a single bobby pin.
I found dozens of socks,
Threw out tonnes of magazines,
I found an empty jewellery box,
And a leaflet for the marines.
I found some vodka and some whiskey,
And towels still wet to the touch,
Looking so closely at my mess is risky,
I swear I didn’t order pizza this much.
Now everything is in large black bags,
My clothes are folded up neat,
They should call me Mrs. Moneybags,
Considering the change I found in the seat.
Now all I want to do is repent,
And rest my weary head,
But I don’t know where the spider went,
So I’m sleeping on the sofa instead.